Sons da Escrita 321

9 de Janeiro de 2011

Sexto programa do ciclo Miguel Torga

Compasso a compasso, palavra a palavra, alinham-se, rigorosos, os sons da escrita.

Quando um homem interroga a água pura dos sentidos e ousa caminhar, serenamente, os esquecidos atalhos de todas as memórias, acontecem viagens — viagens entre o quase tudo e o quase nada.

Então, da raíz dos nervos da memória surge a planta de uma vida escutada no silêncio dos sons da escrita.

Sons da Escrita – à volta de uma ideia de José-António Moreira.


•••

MiguelTorga

Juízo final

Longos dias de vida sem motivo.
Tudo acabou e foi desnecessário.
As contas do rosário
Gastas de tantas rezas repetidas.
Preces vãs a deidades sonolentas,
Desatentas
A queixas de antemão desiludidas.
Sol ainda nos longes da memória
A redoirar as sebes dos caminhos
De criancice e ninhos
E ariscas lagartixas mutiladas.
E versos desde sempre, obsessivos
E sedativos
Como pensos em chagas gangrenadas.


The final cut (Pink Floyd)

Through the fish-eyed lens of tear stained eyes
I can barely define the shape of this moment in time
And far from flying high in clear blue skies
I'm spiraling down to the hole in the ground where I hide. 

If you negotiate the minefield in the drive
And beat the dogs and cheat the cold electronic eyes
And if you make it past the shotguns in the hall,
Dial the combination, open the priesthole
And if I'm in I'll tell you what's behind the wall. 

There's a kid who had a big hallucination
Making love to girls in magazines.
He wonders if you're sleeping with your new found faith.
Could anybody love him
Or is it just a crazy dream? 

And if I show you my dark side
Will you still hold me tonight?
And if I open my heart to you
And show you my weak side
What would you do?
Would you sell your story to Rolling Stone?
Would you take the children away
And leave me alone?
And smile in reassurance
As you whisper down the phone?
Would you send me packing?
Or would you take me home? 

Thought I oughta bare my naked feelings,
Thought I oughta tear the curtain down.
I held the blade in trembling hands
Prepared to make it but just then the phone rang
I never had the nerve to make the final cut.


MiguelTorga

Expiação

Nunca me respondeste, quando te chamei,
E só Deus sabe como era urgente e aflita
A minha voz!
Mas, desgraçadamente sós,
Morrem os que se afogam
No mar da sua própria condição.
O meu, sem margens, é um descampado
Desabrigado.
Vagas e vagas de solidão,
E a tua imagem, litoral sonhado,
Sempre evocada em vão.
Nunca me respondeste, e foi melhor assim.
Um náufrago perpétuo é um pesadelo.
Dizer-me o quê?
Que, de longe, me vias afogar,
Mas que nada podias.
Pois sabias
Que os poetas jurados,
Humanas heresias,
Nascem condenados
A morrer afogados
Todos os dias
No tormentoso mar dos seus pecados.


Sinner (Neil Finn)

See it, anyone, got my eyes, got my face
Sing it, everyone, got my nose, got my blood
My conscience plays upon me now
Safe until my luck runs out

The cuckoos call
The pendulum swings
I thought you knew everything
Lift my hands, make the cross

Sinner, I have never learned
Beginner, I cannot return
Forever I must walk this earth
Like some forgotten soldier

But these things I should keep to myself
But I feel somehow strangely compelled
Under moonlight I stood, wild and naked
I felt no shame, just my spirit awakened

Sinner, seen everything, got my eyes, got my face
Fireball drop from the sky
All my dreams have come to pass
Where's my faith, is it lost?
I can't see it till I cast it off

Sinner, there is no such thing
Beginner, I have learned to sing
Forever I must walk this earth
Like some forgotten soldier

Today I am still disconnected
To the face that I saw in the clouds, yeah
And the closest I get to contentment
Is when all of the barriers come down

Sinner, these things I should keep to myself
But I feel somehow strangely compelled
The closest I get to contentment
Is when all of the barriers come down

Sinner, sinner, sinner
Got my eyes, got my face
See it, anyone, got my nose, got my blood
Sing it, everyone, got my eyes, got my face


MiguelTorga

Termo

Pára, imaginação!
Não há mais aventura, nem poesia.
A hora é de finados,
Com versos apagados
Na lareira onde a fogueira ardia.
Pára, é da lei.
Agora é só cansaço desiludido
E memória teimosa que entristece
O nada que acontece
E o muito acontecido.
Pára, porque findou
O tempo intemporal
Do amor e da graça concedida
A quem nele, no seu barro original,
Modela a própria vida.


End of the end (Paul McCartney)

At the end of the end
It's the start of a journey to a much better place
And this wasn't bad
So a much better place would have to be special
No need to be sad

On the day that I die, I'd like jokes to be told
And stories of old to be rolled out like carpets
That children have played on and laid on
While listening to stories of old

At the end of the end
It's the start of a journey to a much better place
And a much better place would have to be special
No reason to cry

On the day that I die, I'd like bells to be rung
And songs that were sung to be hung out like blankets
That lovers have played on and laid on
While listening to songs that were sung

At the end of the end
It's the start of a journey to a much better place
And a much better place would have to be special
No reason to cry, no need to be sad
At the end of the end


Requiem por mim

Aproxima-se o fim.
E tenho pena de acabar assim,
Em vez de natureza consumada,
Ruína humana.
Inválido do corpo
E tolhido da alma.
Morto em todos os órgãos e sentidos.
Longo foi o caminho e desmedidos
Os sonhos que nele tive.
Mas ninguém vive
Contra as leis do destino.
E o destino não quis
Que eu me cumprisse como porfiei,
E caísse de pé, num desafio.
Rio feliz a ir de encontro ao mar
Desaguar,
E, em largo oceano, eternizar
O seu esplendor torrencial de rio.


Prayer for the dying (Seal)

Fearless people,
Careless needle.
Harsh words spoken,
And lives are broken.
Forceful ageing,
Help me I'm fading.
Heaven's waiting,
It's time to move on.
Crossing that bridge,
With lessons I've learned.
Playing with fire,
And not getting burned.
I may not know what you're going through.
But time is the space,
Between me and you.
Life carries on... it goes on.
Just say die,
And that would be pessimistic.
In your mind,
We can walk across water.
Please don't cry,
It's just a prayer for the dying.
I just don't know what's got into me.
Been crossin' that bridge,
With lessons I've learned.
Playing with fire,
And not getting burned.
I may not know what you're going through,
But time is the space,
Between me and you.
There is a light through that window
Hold on say yes, while people say no
Life carries on
Ohh!
It goes on....oh-ee-oh, whoa-ee-oh ho oh...
I'm crossing that bridge,
With lessons I've learned....
I'm playing with fire,
And not getting burned....
I may not know what you're going through.
But time is the space,
Between me and you.
There is a light through that window.
Hold on say yes, while people say no
Cause life carries on....oh-ee-oh, whoa-ee-oh ho on...
It goes on....oh-ee-on,
It goes on.
Whoa.
Whoa.
Life carries on.
When nothing else matters.
When nothing else matters.
I just don't know what's got into me.
It's just a prayer for the dying.
For the dying.


Não:
Nunca saberás quem sou.
Apesar destes beijos que te dou
E destas ironias que te digo,
Vou contigo
Como vou
Ao lado dum inimigo.


Música:

Genérico
Davy Spillane (abertura e fecho), Beatles (Fecho)

Fundos
Dan Gibson, Danny Elfman, Govannen, Andreas Vollenweider

Ligações
Pink Floyd, Neil Finn, Paul McCartney, Seal

Textos:
Miguel Torga

Edição e voz:
José-António Moreira


•••|•••|•••


And in the end

the love you'll take

is equal to the love you make

© José-António Moreira 2012